


Life choices

by Matarreyes



Series: Of Death and Life [3]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Basically Death is a wiser being than all SHIELD combined, High time we had Ward's POV in this series, It's still terrifying but it has a soft spot for Grant ans Skye, You really need to read the other fics for this to make sense, which is why it's still willing to give them third chances
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-22
Updated: 2015-12-22
Packaged: 2018-05-08 12:39:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5497379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Matarreyes/pseuds/Matarreyes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ward looks up at not-Coulson and thinks back to all the times he'd talked to the real man. He used to like him, once upon a time. Used to wonder about how different he and Garrett seemed. Recently he'd come to wonder about how similar they both ended up being, and how the evilest of all Hydra's creations is having more patience with him than Coulson ever had.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Life choices

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place during and after "Wrong things", featuring Ward's POV. The concept probably won't make much sense if you haven't read previous installments.

It's bad, but not because of all the pain. Physical hurts, Ward can endure endlessly. It's bad because of the mindfuck he'd just went through on top of everything else. One extra year of memories has just been downloaded into him, encrusted into his mind by a wrecking ball. He doesn't think that he can take it. Doesn't want to look, but his eyes feel glued open and gruesome images wink at him. Kara and Tom and his own death, and the knowledge that everything that happened after Vault D was infinitely worse than anything he's done before landing in SHIELD custody. He hadn't thought it possible. Skye hadn't wanted to tell him any details after his sudden resurrection, and that in itself had been his warning. He'd bailed as soon as he felt oriented enough. In the weeks that followed he'd reconstructed certain things. He'd retracted the travels of the creature wearing his face. He'd learned that Death visited all 5 continents and went around the world four times. Went up the Eiffel Tower, into the Sahara, in and out of the Bombay slumps. And then, at certain point, his journey led him to a Hydra castle, a Von Strucker vault, a tiny apartment with an abandoned sniper rifle, a warehouse full of weapons and a Hydra logo on a wall. 

He'd stopped then, knowing that the last part wasn't the creature's work, but his. Knowing that somehow, he'd ended up willingly working for Hydra, pointedly hurting people he'd done his damnest to protect. He hadn't thought it possible. Interminable night after interminable night, he'd laid awake and tried to come up with a scenario where in under a year he'd end up like that. He never managed to do it. There was no logical path for him where he'd willingly reject whatever little chance to make amends Coulson, Skye and SHIELD would offer him. 

And now he knows. There were no amends. There was no making up for anything. He had been kept alive inside that Vault because he'd been of use, and then Christian the politician became more useful. The newfound memory of how the house had smelled when set on fire makes him gag. No wonder he threw up. He feels like throwing up again, however painful the movement might be.

He doesn't care all that much about Coulson's monologues about how much he hates beating him up. The man stopped making sense the minute Ward recovered his memories. Apparently, Directorship made Coulson's conception of right and wrong change on a whim. Selling out Ward himself, he can understand, but heartlessly abandoning Kara? Threatening her life in order to get to him? And now, suddenly, it looks like Coulson wants to talk it out again... It irritates Ward, but the man's poor attempts at soothing him in between blows designed to break his body irritate him more. Do or don't, but this is wanting to have the cake and eat it. You can't play for both sides, he'd learned that the hardest way.

It's a relief when Coulson disappears for a while, and he uses the minutes to lie quietly and allow himself to float away. It won't last long, and then maybe it'll all be over and this time stay that way. According to his memories, he'd found peace on that alien planet, upon looking the goddamn Hydra Jesus in the face. He remembers saying something along these lines to Coulson, and it feels like a sick joke. One death, one resurrection, one mindfuck and one infernal beating later, peace has proven to be a relative term. Whoever is writing his life's story can go fuck himself with that cactus Ward'd apparently once fancied to put on Kara's windowsill. 

His head swims despite his prone position, meaning he's nearing hypovolemic shock. He thinks about Tom again, and Kara, and about Fitz who by now hates him, and lastly about the fact that Skye should have known better. She had been so hopeful when she'd told him that they'd got a second chance at making everything right... Deals with the devil never end well, apparently. 

Skye's dead now, by the way. Ward doesn't want to examine this knowledge too closely. Maybe when he dies, the creature will slink back into his body and let Skye go free. It's extremely unlikely - Ward's a decent killing machine but she's an Inhuman with incredible power. Anyone would be stupid to let her go, Death included.

Coulson comes back briskly, new determination in his steps, and makes a beeline for the discarded gun. The shock of it gives Ward strength to try and sit up. He's beyond pissed all of a sudden. He's done his part, he's taken his punishment and he's made it as easy for Coulson as he could. What more does the guy want? He screams at the older man because he'd seen the dead people scattered all over the lodge, but words come out weak as he's having trouble sucking enough air, and are silenced by the gunshot. Then, everything is quiet.

Somehow, this is much worse. Coulson, at least, had some insight from the hours he'd interacted with the creature, and also whatever intel Skye might have given him. Ward seems to only be good enough to be used as a puppet by that thing, and isn't that an appropriate designation for him? He'd laugh, it the movement wasn't so painful. He leans back against the wall and waits, because at least one ankle and one knee are badly broken and he sees no point in trying to stand up now. He hears steps resonate ritmically as Death comes near to observe its work. What a grotesque picture they all make. Coulson's dead body lies slumped in one corner, Ward's semi-alive body lies across the room. Blood everywhere. Smell of gunpowder. And not-Skye walking amidst it all with a regal, superior expression.

She's never once looked superior to anyone when she'd been alive.

He wants to remind Death that it promised to let her go. He can't, though, because Coulson didn't uphold his end of their bargain, and because it feels wrong to do so when there are dozens of bodies scattered across the building. Ward feels like he should beg for them, if he's to open his mouth at all. He doesn't feel like begging, though. It'd never gotten him anything except more of whatever thing his fearful words betrayed as his deepest fear. Latest case in point, Coulson handing him over to Christian.

Not-Skye comes up to him and surveys its - Coulson's- handiwork. The creature wears such a concentrated expression, he starts to hope that this gore pleases it enough to make up for SHIELD's transgressions. It looks at Ward's face last of all. It studies him for a long while.

"You haven't met me before," it says, "but I have met you. I know you very well." 

"So I was told," Ward answers. 

"I didn't mean to bring you renewed anguish."

"No problem," he answers cheekily and smiles through the blood drying on his lips. He'd always smiled when he's been in pain - it doesn't make whatever's happening go away, but it trumps crying. "Anything else I can be useful for?" 

It looks at Ward as if it knows exactly what's going through his mind, which it probably does. It's been inside of that same mind for months, after all. The way the change happens is instant, and weird - not-Skye doesn't even touch Coulson, and suddenly his goddamn dead body is flexing its hands and trying to stand and Skye is... She blinks, wavers on her feet, catches herself, then looks wildly around. The first thing she sees is Ward awkwardly splattered at her feet. The second is Coulson blinking up at her despite the round hole in his head, and her breath catches in understanding. 

"He killed himself," Ward says defensively, and maybe this isn't the best starting point, but it's a knee jerk reaction. He's been trying his best to do his part, and it irks him that Skye'd think that he got involved in this on his own accord, or that he deserved the beating. "It made me come so that Coulson could entertain it by killing me again, but somehow our brave Director ended up shooting himself."

"Why?" She stutters. "How?"

He doesn't have an answer to that, just shrugs with the one shoulder that's less pain ridden and tries to slide further down the wall. Seeing Skye alive and well saps what is left of his energies, and he'd be content to just curl up and let the craziness go on without him. The shock is a foregone conclusion, he knows. The apathy and the cold sweat are dead giveaways. There isn't enough visible blood around him to warrant this, so it must be an internal bleeding. He feels hysteric laughter bubble up at the occurrence that he's about to compare two different ways to die. Suffocation and blood loss. Both caused by internal injuries inflicted by Phil Coulson. He stomps the urge down, trying to go easy on the ribs, but his expression must still be a poem because Skye is choosing to look at him over the spectacle that is Death making itself comfortable in Coulson's body.

She towers over him uncertainly surveying the damage, then kneels and touches his shoulder. The bad one. Ward does his best to turn his grimace into a tight lipped smile and knows that he's most probably failing. He winces awkwardly wherever she touches him and tries to hold the urge to hiss inside, knowing it won't take her long to desist. Skye's hands hover over his forearms, his torso, try to open his shirt and stop once she realizes the futility of her efforts. There is nothing for it, nothing she can do to set bones on the floor of a rustic lodge. She's only making everything worse. 

She settles on the floor near him, holding her trembling hand on his thigh where is doesn't bring any pain. Her fingers flex and straighten in an absent petting gesture. Ward can't feel it through his jeans, the overall haze and the assorted hurts that reclaim his attention, but he sees it. It's enough. Smallest things have always been enough for him.

They both look on as Death takes possession of Coulson's body. His wound closes. His body straightens, his demeanor changes from frantic back to his self assured self. He pats himself down and cleans his clothes. It's eerie, how similar Coulson and not-Coulson look. Where with not-Skye Ward had been able to immediately feel the otherness of the creature inside the hacker's body, this time Death seems to have found the perfect camouflage and looks cozily at home.

"You have us," says Skye as soon as its attention is centered on the two of them. "Let the civilians go."

"Your boss didn't uphold his end of our bargain," it says while looking disappointed but not at all surprised. It's a look that suits Coulson the Director perfectly.

"What was the deal?" Skye asks. Death had promised to keep her in the dark about the unpleasantries of their pact if Ward and Coulson didn't exchange a single word while hashing it out. Ward had slipped somewhere down the road, though. He cringes. He's nauseous and getting worse by the second, but the idea of Skye learning the gory details upsets him more than the prospect of more abuse coming to his broken ribs.

"He had to kill me," he tells her curtly what she already knows, leaving the details out.

It smiles smugly, pointedly letting Ward know that it's onto him and only indulging him because it feels like it. The creature comes near and takes stock of his injuries, and Ward wonders if it's truly counting his broken bones. He grinds his teeth together and waits for the verdict. 

Death looks up, but it's not a number of spared civilians that's on its lips. 

"He has," it says. "Spleen and liver both busted and actively hemorrhaging. You have ten minutes. A quarter of hour, tops."

"Good," Ward spits out. Skye gasps, but he's beyond the point where he'd give a damn about anyone knowing what's on his mind. Her being at his side means more than he can ever tell her, but he's way too tired. There is a limit to the number of times he can be expected to pull himself up by his bootstraps before they break. That limit have been vastly exceeded last year alone. He'd just been made to forget it.

Now he remembers again.

"Save him," Skye chooses to ignore him and address Death head on. "You did before. You said you liked him. Punish Coulson, punish me. We came after you despite your warning." The self assured commanding notes in her voice mix with a badly hidden plea. "Please. Grant hasn't done anything against you."

Death looks at Skye. Ward pointedly doesn't. He pulls his good leg closer to his body for better maneuverability, tries to sit up again and leans forward to stop supporting himself against the wall. His head swims at this, and his vision tunnels out, but he knows what this "saving" will entail and he'll be damned if he allows that thing inside his mind again. 

"No thanks, I'm good," he manages and makes another attempt at increasing the distance between not-Coulson and himself. He didn't fight the real Coulson while perfectly healthy, but he knows that if Death comes near him he'll fight with everything he's got. 

Skye's hand is on his neck and then on his forehead. It feels like she's trying to get him to lean on her, but that's out of the question. Ward shakes his head and tries to re-access the situation. His hearing wavers just as much as vision does. He feels like he's wandering through cotton, if cotton was ice cold. 

To his relief, Death doesn't move at all, except for holding its hands up in a placating gesture.

"Grant... Come on, Grant, this is absurd," Skye gently calls him back. She sounds like she is coaxing a small child into the dentist office. He doesn't answer, just moves his head in a stubborn gesture, and she sucks in a breath and says way more urgently and loudly. "He doesn't know what he's doing. Just help him now, we'll deal with this later! Just do it!"

"He feels strongly about his autonomy, however little of it he actually has and however recent this attachment is," Death says. "He's had his will overridden way too many times. I'm not going to destroy it."

Skye goes silent, her thumb running up and down Ward's neck, behind his ear. If he was more present, it'd be tickling him. As he's now, the contact simply anchors him. He shudders, Skye's soft dejected whine washing over him. He doesn't want for her to watch this, and he doesn't necessarily want to die right now. He's a survivor, isn't he? But the idea of having that thing inside of him - however briefly, however benignly, however little new information it'd gather this time about him - is a line he doesn't think that he can bear to cross.

He looks up at not-Coulson and thinks back to all the times he'd talked to the real man. He used to like him, once upon a time. Used to wonder about how different he and Garrett seemed. Recently he'd come to wonder about how similar they both ended up being, and how the evilest of all Hydra's creations is having more patience with him than Coulson ever had. Death's eyes are what Coulson's eyes had never been - patient and questioning without presuming anything. It's calming, not being put under the microscope and constantly being found wanting. It dawns on Ward that among all the powerful people he'd ever known, this being is the first one to not do anything to him "for his own good", and yet against his will. 

This understanding is enough to allow him to finally relax and bury his head into Skye's neck. 

"Do it," he manages to get out before his resolve and the sudden insight it's based upon can waver. One shared look to make quite sure that he means it, and Death surges forward.

World goes black.

**Author's Note:**

> This work is meant to fill in the blank in Coulson's POV in "Wrong things", which is not to say it'll cover the several months Coulson spent possessed. There will be at least one other chapter in which Ward and Skye will talk things out and Ward will end back at SHIELD.


End file.
